A Stirring of the Loins
by Cats070911
Summary: A piece of fluff about how a conversation about tall, dark, handsome men and hairy chests can lead to love.


**Author's notes:**

1\. All usual disclaimers apply.

2\. Sparked by a conversation, or two. Pure fluff and nonsense for a time of uncertainty in the world.

3\. To the Guest who is currently working their way through my back catalogue(s) but leaves me no way of engaging with you: thank you for your comments, good and bad. I do not expect universal praise and recognise that the vast majority of your comments have been positive, but please consider three things. Firstly, constructive criticism helps writers. I use fan fiction to try new things - style, types of genres within an underlying romance theme, etc. Some work well, and sometimes I get it wrong. And yes, I am very aware that a lot of my stories are unrealistic and overly sentimental. So rather than say x or y paragraph is 'very weak', add 'because' and explain why you felt that way. Secondly, 'blech' and 'did no smart author ever' is disrespectful. It is very easy these days to accept the casual vitriol of social media commentary as the norm. The ILM community to date has been above that. Let's keep it that way and engage with respect. I do not believe in censoring / removing comments (unless they insult other commentators or readers), but remember that behind the pen names, we are humans with the usual array of emotions and insecurities. We put part of ourselves out there every time we write. We do it because we enjoy writing and hopefully give readers a few minutes of escapism, drama and pleasure. We deserve respect for doing that. So only honest but constructive feedback, please. Thirdly, don't mistake the opinions expressed by characters in dialogue as the views of the author. Don't presume to know my politics or feel the need to correct them. Think about the context and backstory of the character, even minor ones. They have biases and prejudices, just like everyone. If we write only politically correct characters then we are failing ourselves as writers, and you as readers.

4\. And finally, something I should have said a long time ago. I respect all the people who regularly read my stories, but over time one or two of you made me feel embarrassed and ashamed for penning the occasional M-rated story. Guilt led me to create SisterSnorfl, a pseudonym shared by at least three authors here for writing/co-writing stories. That stops now, for me at least. If I want to write one I will because I refuse to be made to feel bad for not living up to someone else's standard. Sorry, but I have to be true to who I am.

Now where were we? Ah, yes, Tommy and Barbara...

* * *

Detective Sergeant Havers shifted in her seat trying to relieve the numbness that was creeping down her leg. "Remind me again why we are on a stakeout?"

"Because London is on high alert and no one has murdered anyone this week." Tommy Lynley replied as if trying to explain something very simple to a small child. "Have you got any more coffee in that thermos?"

Barbara glared at her boss. Even at three o'clock in the morning, her Inspector was far too suave. She thrust the flask at him without saying a word then completely ignored his smirk. "At least you don't talk about football all the time."

"Is that a pre-requisite for surveillance?"

"I did one a few years before I met you. It was out near Stamford Bridge, and old Bill Greene recited every FA Cup winner and gave me a summary of the game. Three nights I was stuck listening to him."

"1872 Wanderers, 1873 Wanderers, 1874 Oxford Universit... ow!" Tommy rubbed his arm where Barbara had punched him.

"Very funny."

Tommy could not help himself. "I thought so."

They sat quietly, both trying not to be the first to laugh. Barbara finally lost it. "Could you really recite all the winners?"

"Do you want to put me to the test?"

"No!"

"Well then, you'll never know." Tommy took a slurpy sip of coffee. "So what would you like to talk about to keep us awake?"

"I dunno."

"Have you seen any good movies lately?"

Barbara turned and stared at him. "Seriously? That's the sort of things blokes at the dating agencies used to ask?"

"It's called 'making conversation'. You should try it sometime. You might like it."

"Nah. Overrated."

"So?"

"So what?"

"Have you seen any good movies lately?"

She groaned loudly. "Not really. You?"

"Not really."

"So much for conversation." Now Barbara smirked. "I wouldn't mind. I think there's a new thriller out soon."

"Thrillers are good. Who's in it?"

"Pierce Brosnan."

"Isn't he getting a bit old?"

"No!"

"Sorry. That hit a nerve I see. What other actors stir your loins?"

Barbara spluttered her coffee over her leg. "Stir my loins? Who actually says that?"

"Me, it seems."

"Well if it is aristocrat speak for what actors do you fancy, then none. I like them for their acting."

"Unless you're visiting from Mars, I find that hard to believe."

"Nanoo nanoo."

"Mork was from Ork, not Mars."

Barbara muttered under her breath about arrogant, poncy lords of the manor. "Why can't I like actors for their skill?"

"You can, but we're only human. You're allowed to be attracted to them. You can live out whatever life you like in Fantasyville."

"Fantasyville? You've been alone too long! You sound creepy."

"Do I? Come on, there must be someone you've thought if there were no complications, no consequences, you'd like to spend some quality time with them."

"You mean satisfying the urges of my stirred loins?"

"Exactly."

Barbara laughed in the way that Tommy enjoyed. He liked to see her relaxed and unguarded. "I don't know. Aiden Turner maybe."

"He's a bit young for you."

"I thought this was Fantasyville? I can be younger too."

"Fair point. He's quite... hairy."

"He's Irish."

"Are all Irish men hairy?"

"Gerard Butler, Pierce Brosnan."

"Butler's a Scot."

"Well, Celts then."

"The Cornish are Celtic, but I'm not hairy."

"I know." Barbara sighed far too wistfully for Tommy's liking. "Imagine being able to run your fingers through a lovely forest of thick chest hair."

"Barbara!"

She laughed at his reaction. "Okay, it's not so much the hair, it's more the voice and the way they scrub up. They look great in suits. Colin Firth's not hairy, and he has a divine voice, like liquid honey. The sort of sexy voice that makes you melt."

"He's not a Celt."

"Stop being pedantic."

Tommy grinned to himself. "So you want a tall, dark and handsome man with a great voice who looks terrific in a tuxedo with bonus points for a masculine chest."

"Yeah, that about sums it up, but you could describe David Cameron that way too, and I don't fancy him. They have to have that X factor - a hint of danger, a bit of a reputation or something slightly forbidden."

Now it was Tommy's turn to laugh. "Slightly forbidden? That does sound like loins would be stirred."

"You know what I mean. Anyway, who stirs your loins? Or am I going to regret asking?"

"You might be surprised. I like intelligent women rather than eye-candy."

"Such as?"

"Judi Dench, Helen Mirren."

"And you thought mine were inappropriate ages. I don't believe that they stir your loins!"

"You obviously never saw Age of Consent. You want me to say Kate Beckinsale or Keira Knightly don't you?"

"That'd be more honest."

"Not really. I think internal beauty is much more alluring."

"So do I but... is that the suspect?"

Tommy was annoyed by the timing. He had had the first opportunity in months to tell her he found her attractive and the damned terrorist had to come home! "Yes, call it in."

* * *

Four days later Tommy ordered two tickets to the London premiere of the movie she had mentioned. As they sipped their customary after-work pint, he thought it was a good time to ask her. "Remember the other night you mentioned that new movie?"

Barbara frowned at first. "Oh, yeah. I remember."

"I have two tickets to the premiere if you want to go."

"Premiere? You mean _he_ will be there?"

Tommy tried to sound casual. "Yes, I believe so."

"Seriously?"

"Yes."

"When?"

"Saturday evening."

"Do I have to wear something ridiculous?"

He had anticipated that question. "I thought the black suit you wear to court."

He watched as she considered it. "Okay. That'd be good."

"Right, well I'll pick you up at seven."

* * *

Tommy turned up five minutes early. Barbara looked rather stunning in her suit. Instead of her white cotton shirt, she was wearing a black blouse that was shinier and silkier. All in black, her hair and eyes stood out. "You look lovely," he said hoping he did not sound inappropriately enthusiastic. She had definitely stirred his loins.

She blushed deeply as she looked him up and down before looking away. "So do you."

Tommy had dressed in his best cashmere tuxedo. He had visited the barber in the afternoon for a haircut and shave. He might not be Pierce Brosnan, but he knew he broadly met her criteria. He hoped tonight she might begin to notice that, even if he lacked the manly, hairy chest she so admired.

He offered his arm. "Shall we go and be thrilled?"

* * *

There he is!" Barbara said excitedly. Tommy had felt awkward standing in the foyer waiting for a glimpse of the stars, but her delight had been worth it. He wanted her to enjoy her evening and hoped part of it would be because of him and not the Irishman. Lynley ran his policeman's eye over the actor. Other than fame and a hairy chest, Tommy thought he compared relatively favourably.

He had to admit the movie was quite good. Brosnan played a failed voice over actor who was forced to work in a call centre selling electricity plans. One day he was accidentally left on the line and overheard a plan to assassinate a European prince, but when no one believes him, he was forced to act alone to protect him. Along the way, he wins the heart of the sexy widowed sister of the man he saved.

Throughout the movie, Barbara had stared at the screen, engrossed in the plot. It gave Tommy a chance to watch her. With any other woman, he would have been able to signal his interest by putting his arm around her or holding her hand. If he did that with Barbara, he imagined she would laugh or make a fuss. He settled for leaning his arm next to hers along the armrest.

For weeks he had debated how to tell her that he wanted to start living his life looking forward rather than back and that he wanted her beside him on that journey. At least she had agreed to come with him tonight to something more than a drink or a quick meal. He intended to keep asking her out in the hope she would grow used to him as more than her friend. He knew patience was the key.

At the height of the action, Barbara hit his arm repeatedly as if trying to emphasise the best bits. It was more amusing than annoying, but Tommy took the opportunity to close his hand over hers on the pretext of stopping her punching him. Her arm went rigid. She glanced at him and grinned sheepishly. He knew she would withdraw, so he continued to hold her hand until she relaxed and her attention went back to the film. When her hand closed over two of his fingers, he sighed contentedly. It felt like progress.

The film ended far too soon, and Tommy had to release her hand reluctantly. He went to speak, but she beat him to it. "That was great! Thank you for getting tickets, Sir."

"My pleasure Barbara. I'm glad you enjoyed it. If we hurry, we might see the actors again."

The foyer was crowded. Tommy jockeyed for a spot where Barbara would be able to see. "Do you want to get closer and try and meet him?"

"No!"

"Oh." Tommy was surprised by the vehemence of her reaction.

"Never meet your heroes lest ye find they have feet of clay."

If it was a quote he could not place it, but he understood the sentiment. "Dinner then?"

"Yeah, I'm starving."

Tommy took Barbara to a gastro pub near Soho. It was trendy and crowded, and he suspected Barbara was a little intimidated by the noise and bustle. They nestled into a tiny cubicle for two and ordered pints of craft beer to accompany their cheesy bacon fries and spicy pork ribs. As they ate, they dissected the movie then talked about their favourite movies over two more pints. It was relaxed, easy conversation and when the waiter brought their bill, he hated having to break the spell of the evening. "Do you want to go to a club or something?" he asked as they walked to the can rank.

"Nightclubbing? I think I'm a bit past that, Sir. But thank you. I enjoyed tonight. Thanks again for getting tickets."

"So did I. We should do it again sometime." Tommy groaned inwardly. That was a line he used with boring women when he meant the opposite.

"Sure."

"Next Saturday? We could see a play or a musical."

"Oh, I thought you were just being polite. Yeah, okay."

"Saturday it is then, murderers permitting." He was smiling more than he should in the circumstances, and Barbara was giving him a quizzical look.

He insisted on accompanying her in the cab. "A gentleman always makes sure his lady gets home safely."

As he helped her out of the cab, he debated whether or not to pay the driver. If he did, it looked like he expected to be invited in. If he had to come back and pay, it would spoil the mood if she did suggest a nightcap. He should not presume. "Keep the meter running."

"Hey, Mister! Not so fast. I clock off in ten minutes. This was my last fare."

Tommy was annoyed but also relieved. "You didn't think to mention that when you picked us up?"

"You said Camden. You never said Camden and then somewhere else." Tommy shook his head as he paid him.

He turned to Barbara. "Seems I need to phone for a new cab." Barbara was trying hard not to smile. "What's funny?"

"That answers that question."

"What?" he asked as she unlocked her door.

"Whether I should ask you in or not."

Tommy stood back to let Barbara enter first then pushed the door closed behind him. "Did you want to invite me in?"

"Yes."

"I was hoping you would," he murmured as he stepped closer to her.

"But you left the meter running."

"I didn't want you to think I expected..." He left his sentence unfinished. No word seemed to fit without sounding forward.

Barbara bit her lip. "I don't."

As he looked at her face, he saw apprehension slowly dissolving into something much more promising. Without intending it, his face had drifted close to hers. To his surprise, Barbara reached out and pushed back the lock of hair that had fallen over his eye. Her fingers tangled in his hair dragging him towards her. Their lips brushed twice before he dared let them linger. His arms wrapped around her and pulled her closer. She kissed him harder before they paused. "This is dangerous."

"And slightly forbidden." Her lips were tantalisingly close to his mouth.

"I have a reputation." He kissed her again.

"You look handsome in your suit." Her breath tickled his face.

He moved his head and kissed her neck. "Only in my suit?"

She groaned appreciatively as he nuzzled his nose behind her ear. "And that voice!"

"I don't have a hairy chest to run your fingers through."

"I don't care, Tommy."

"Oh, Barbara!" He had not anticipated the effect hearing his name would have on him. He kissed her again, this time with passion and love. "Maybe I should go, before..."

"Do you want to stay?"

"Yes!"

"Because I stir your loins?" Barbara kissed him suggestively.

"No, because I love you."

"About time you realised!"

"I've known in my heart for a long time."

"I love you too." She reached up and tugged on the end of his bowtie pulling it undone and dragging him closer to her. She whispered into his ear.

Tommy grinned at her then kissed her hard. "Yes, there too."


End file.
